


Awaken Inside of Me

by fadagaski



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Comfort, Drunk Sex, F/M, First Orgasm, First Time, Furiosa's sort of tipsy, Kissing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5081988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadagaski/pseuds/fadagaski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Furiosa has never had an orgasm before. Didn't know what to expect, or maybe didn't think she could? It's a little overwhelming when it happens. Max comforts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awaken Inside of Me

The thing is, they’ve been intimate for weeks. Hot kisses and stroking hands and the delicious pressure of thighs and hips and groins. Furiosa can say with absolute certainty that she’s never felt so revved up, every night falling into Max, every morning more and more reluctant to leave as he trails lips and tongue and teeth down her throat. His hands slide callus-rough under her shirt, over the soft flesh of her belly, goosebumps shivering in their wake, an electric circuit to her core where she can feel herself, slick and hot and trembling. 

And she’s been wet before, for him. Of course she has. How could she not? His hands are magical, skimming and stroking and twisting and _teasing_ until she is a breathless squirming mess. She loves when he scratches his beard over her neck. She loves the firm weight of him cradled between her thighs, hips pressing hard, rolling against her. She thinks she could coast forever on that warm ride, the tingle down low that burns all day and all night.

One time, though, there’s been a party, and she’s had a little moonshine, and she’s handsy and giggly and eager. There’s the wet pulse between her legs that she’s come to know and love, and she just _wants_.

Max tugs her away from the bonfire to their room, cradles her head in his big hands as their mouths meet, slippery slide of lips and the sharp catch of teeth. He wraps his arms around her, presses them together from chest to groin. 

Furiosa moans, _loud_. The sound startles her; she draws back, but Max grunts and pulls her in again, hot wet mouth and racing breath, and she stops caring.

The bed is right there. She topples sideways with the carelessness of the mildly drunk and trusts Max to follow.

He does. Always.

Kissing horizontally is familiar. She lets her hand wander, sliding up his back under his shirt, shivers at the feel of muscle shifting beneath warm skin. It feels good to drift, all his warm planes snug against her, his thick lips trailing heat and spit down the length of her neck. She scratches when he nips her, moans as he lathes the sting away with his slick tongue.

Max’s fingers curl over her hip, pull her close, angle their groins so that his hard cock is nudged right up against the seam of her pants. He slides his hand down, hooks her leg over his, slots in tight and rolls his hips.

Furiosa moans again. Pleasure sparks up her spine and down her thighs, a sharper intensity than she’s used to. Some of the drunk-fog fades. Max thrusts his hips up and she gasps, sparking again, buries her mouth in the soft cotton of his shirt. 

Max notices. Of course he does. He can read everything about her. He stops mouthing her neck, stops the roll of his hips. Waits until Furiosa drags her head up, looks her in the eye. 

With deliberate slowness, eyes fixed on her the whole time, he trails his hand from the back of her thigh to the front, then up, up, up. Furiosa can barely breathe for the tension strumming through her. He cups her mound through her pants, the barest hint of pressure, and waits. 

Furiosa sucks in a shaky breath, nods.

The blunt shape of his thumb pushes against the seam of her pants, right on that electric spot. Furiosa gasps, groans when he does it again, head tipping back, hand clenching Max's shoulder. 

He sets up a rhythm, not so much movement as hard-to-light pressure, over and over. Her hips move of their own accord in counterpoint to his clever hand. Every thrust forward triggers that spiky surge, shivering low in her belly. She can't believe the whimpers he's wringing from her throat; they hitch up a key when his fingers push against her hole with only damp cloth between them. She's never felt like this before, never felt the wet pulse of heat so keenly, can't keep up with the intense shudders racking her, wrecking her. 

She hears herself moan on repeat, because it's building, something inside, bigger and bigger, and his thumb is hard and insistent and he is gasping into her ear and his smell is everywhere and she clamps her hand round the flexing muscle of his arm and – OH. 

It blasts through her, wave upon wave, her body grinding down on his thumb and her inner walls flexing and back arching tight. She might be moaning but it's all white noise under the pulsing intensity, the full body shivers. Even her toes are tingling.

Max's mouth crashes against hers, hungry and irresistible, steals the breath from her lungs even as she gasps for air. His thumb is still there, still sparking sharp bursts of electricity; his cock a hard line of heat against her hipbone. Furiosa can't get her head straight, too little oxygen and too much stimulus. Her heart is racing a mile a minute and she just needs to _think_. 

“Max, Max,” she gasps as he nips down her throat, nerves firing in his wake, and Furiosa can't cope with this, feels the flutter of panic set in. “Max, stop!”

It takes a moment, he's so caught up in mouthing the juncture of her shoulder and neck, but he does stop. Lifts his head away, retracts his hand (Furiosa shivers), pulls back to look her in the face. He looks – ravaged, ruddy lips and blown pupils and nostrils flaring. Furiosa wants to kiss him as badly as she wants to kick him out of bed; caught between two impulses, she does neither, just watches him watch her catch her breath and will her heart to slow. 

He strokes her cheek softly with the back of two fingers, but even that is too much; she captures his hand, holds it tight in her own. He frowns when he realises she is trembling still. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs, and squeezes back. 

Furiosa swallows hard, wills her muscles to relax. She is safe. This is Max and she is safe here. 

“I never did that,” she admits in a low voice, “before.” Wasn't sure she could, in all honesty. All those years learning her body's strengths and weaknesses – turning those weaknesses _to_ strengths – but she never knew this.

Unbidden tears sting her eyes and she blinks them away.

Max doesn't say anything. Instead, he rolls back, half-lifts his arm in open invitation: her choice to seek comfort in him or to leave, find some place quiet to piece herself together again. She knows he won't judge her for either. 

With a shuddering sigh, she curls into his chest, throbbing and sore and vulnerable, and lets herself be held.

**Author's Note:**

> More MMFR madness on [my tumblr](http://fadagaki.tumblr.com/)! Come prompt me!


End file.
